Mercer:
Even the passage of centuries couldn’t grant him release from Juliette de Sauveterre. There was something about her that was almost mesmerizing, and impossible to forget. Never had Mercer met a person who could wield words as well as he, who held themselves so eloquently despite the cloak of secrecy and shadows on their shoulders. The two of them had led very different lives before they’d met, yet somehow, they were nearly the same. Mercer was a bit more thirsty for bloodshed rather than champagne, more partial to fisted hands than a delicate touch. Juliette was admittedly more graceful, and admittedly dangerous in her own right. Her words were sharper than the cheekbones holding up those tricky blue eyes that always twinkled with the slightest bit of malice. Each of their conversations would have to be replayed in his head afterwards, always the worry that he’d missed something; the smallest twitch of the lips, a change in tone. It kept him on his toes, so much that she’d earned a great deal of his respect.
But respect and friendship were not always synonymous. ‘Friend’ was term he used lightheartedly, a way to make people feel as if they mattered to him, to make his job easier. A true friend was capable of holding his absolute trust, something he dealt over very rarely. Juliette was neither of those things, but she was something. Just another way she endlessly left him complexed. It was almost infuriating, but there was still a small amount of relief in him to see such a familiar face as he wandered around like a ghost. He’d of course looked at the guest list before arriving in Tuscany, but seeing her face to face was different; and she hadn’t changed in the slightest
He was more than happy to relax as he watched her recline in his chair, his own body sinking onto the edge of his bed just a few feet away. Chocolate hues eyed her carefully - an unbreakable habit - keeping tabs on her stature, squinting slightly at the subtle change in the tone of her voice. “Careful now. I might almost say you’ve missed me.” he mused, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. Missing another person was a luxury Mercer couldn’t afford, not in his line of work. She expectedly recounted his story all too well, the less than pleasant memories causing his lips to tighten in a thin line before he relaxed them into a easy smile. “You are correct, as always. I wish it were a prettier picture.” A short, almost wistful beat, and then, “But today is a new painting, is it not? A fresh canvas of sorts. Whether I’ll be painting with oils or blood is…yet to be determined.”
His comment had her thinking, had she missed him? They weren’t friends in any conventional way or even in the unconventional. That word seemed to come with trust and that was a delicate thing to provide anyone. Yet, Juliette had enjoyed him being around when he was. She was still young. Barely out of the stage of pure bloodshed, her teeth still aching with every thought. He had of course been Ezio then. That was one thing she had never had to endure, losing her name. She wasn’t so certain she would have carried it as well as he seemed to. In her human life it had meant so much to her, but perhaps that was a noble thing? Names only meant something to the correct few. “Miss is a strong word,” she finally concluded her mental thoughts with a soft ghost of a smile.
His warm colored eyes were tinged with something she couldn’t pinpoint but honestly, didn’t try very hard. Instead, she could feel something pleasant slide up her spine as he got a little more comfortable in his position. Jules obviously hadn’t expected to see him, the whole being dead and all. It made for a pleasant surprise and she couldn’t even lie to herself and act as if a large part of her wasn’t pleased. It was inconvenient. Contently she listened, her mind bouncing along with his words. Cataloguing his smile that turned into something tense for a later date. What had he done to disappear?
“You know the interesting thing about paintings Ezio,” his true name was said so softly as it danced off her tongue. Practically mouthed and barely whispered. Even among rooms that weren’t meant to have surveillance, she was careful with it. No reason to put things in the light that didn’t need to be. “If you have a delicate hand you can peel the new layers from the top to get to the old,” it wasn’t a threat, not really. A pure statement of fact. No need for him to get caught again. One death after reaching immortality was probably enough.
“However,” her body moved to shift so she could lean on her crossed legs, “I have my personal hopes for whatever you may have planned,” she continued eyeing him critically. “I was always partial to a deep red,” pausing for what would have been the beat of a heart, she leaned back into her previous position with a small shrug. “There was always something so beautiful about it.”
